


Do Not Stir

by newt_scamander



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: But no, Canon, Courfeyrac/Joly - Freeform, EVERYONE - Freeform, Everyone is Dead, LITERALLY, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Why Does This Exist, and Jolls, darby says #yolo, dead, except Courf, they are all dead, very sad, why did I write this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-08 01:07:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1126567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newt_scamander/pseuds/newt_scamander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The barricade fell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do Not Stir

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for my Jolllly. Hers was all cutesy and happy AND THEY LIVED.But nope. I tried for canon. Apparently I just want to watch the world burn. (#SWAG) 
> 
> Come yell at me on tumblr?   
> courfandjolllly.tumblr.com

Do Not Stir  
The barricade had fallen. It was silent. No changing of the guard nor tapping of heavy boots on creaking wood. 

The stench of death weeks from every surface; the red and blue clad bodies of the National Guard slumped over cannons, abandoned by the fearful captains. A blood river ran in the street, staining the pavement a dark muddy color. 

In the hallowed upstairs room there lay five bodies. Combeferre Gardien, the bespectacled medical student and voice of reason to the cause, lay sprawled on the floor. His eyes were open and the glasses over his eyes were broken. Enjolras Abaisse was pinned to the wall, his golden curls matted together with sticky blood. Grantaire Seul looked up at him with cold dead eyes. His own green vest was punctured, blood still seeping to the surface. 

The bodies on either side of Combeferre,however, were not yet defeated. 

Victor Courfeyrac moved weakly, shifting his shoulders as he regained consciousness. A sharp pain in his left side stopped the movement though and a hiss left his lips. 

"Courfeyrac?" Came the surprised whisper from the dry lips on the opposite side of Combeferre's lanky form. "Could it possibly be you, Courfeyrac?" 

Courfeyrac struggled to sit up, a hand at his ribs to abate the pain. 

Lucien Joly lay very still. Blood stained his blue frock and his face was stained with the stuff. 

Courfeyrac almost whooped with glee. "Joly, my dear fellow! How on Earth did you manage to survive?" He crawled to his knees. 

Joly blinked and raised a shaky hand to wipe his face of the blood. 

"The bullet missed and found its mark in dear Combeferre's ribs." Joly said sadly, placing a hand on the departed man's chest. "I've laid awake for hours, contemplating the easiest way to fall." 

"Fall?" Courfeyrac staggered to his feet. 

"Fall asleep and never wake. It seemed possible, to stop breathing. Or use a blade. Anything to stop seeing it." Joly whispered the words with a severity that shocked and worried Courfeyrac. 

But as the latter looked around the room, almost searching for his friends. His heart ached for all that was lost. He would never hear the likes of Enjolras raging, nor Combeferre's calming words. Never again would Gavroche climb on his back, never again would Prouvaire recite verse after verse. 

But Joly, his beloved and dear Joly, sat before him. All could not be wrong in the world if Joly was still here, could it? 

Courfeyrac breathed heavily, his side aching and blood pulsing to his wound. 

"Come along then." The man said, staggering to his feet. He held a hand out to the smaller man. 

Joly looked up at him. "Come where? Where can we go?" 

"The flat. We must begin. There are arrangements and bonds and- Life must go on Joly." Courfeyrac said though it pained him to picture his life from now on. 

Joly got to his feet, staggering and leaning heavily on Courfeyrac's shoulder. "My cane... It is at the- the..." The man broke off, unable to say the word. 

"All is well Jolllly. I will retrieve it." Courfeyrac promised, though the idea of walking on the blood stained alley sickened him. 

Joly nodded. "Quickly, please. Don't be seen." 

Courfeyrac went as fast as his ribs would allow him, blood thickening in his hand and running down his chest now. He returned a moment later, pressing the battered cane, crafted by Feuilly, into Joly's hand. 

Joly took Courfeyrac's hand in one of his own and the can in the other, hobbling down the hallway. 

Courfeyrac watched. He saw no one. 

They were alone.


End file.
